My Blood Runs Red
by AnchorRed
Summary: After Sam drove the Impala to the clinic, the upholstery must have gotten bloody. The stains don't bother Dean for the reasons Sam thinks they do. Tag to 11x17 Red Meat, fix-it fic


**_Summary_****: After Sam drove the Impala to the clinic, the upholstery must have gotten bloody. The stains don't bother Dean for the reasons Sam thinks they do. Tag to 11x17 Red Meat, fix-it fic. Title comes from "I Don't Mind if You Don't Mind" by Ron Pope.**

_Bang!_

Corbin froze, his eyes wide. Suddenly, he fell down in a heap, dead. Dean looked past him and saw Sam standing there, gun raised in an outstretched hand. Relief flooded through Dean at the sight of his brother standing there, but it quickly evaporated as Sam wavered and slumped down to the cold tile, pain and exhaustion etched into every line of his face.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, going over to his little brother. He wrapped one arm around Sam's back and the other he pressed to the wound that was still sluggishly bleeding, even after so many hours. Sam's clothes were saturated in the red sticky stuff.

"Please, somebody help me!" Dean yelled. "I need a doctor over here!"

Sam was quiet and listless, his eyes slipping shut, even though Dean could tell he tried to keep them open. Sam had finally reached the end of his strength, and even adrenaline wouldn't cut it anymore.

Dean could feel that Sam was still breathing even though his eyes remained closed. "Come on, Sammy. You're okay," he said, glancing up from Sam to look down the hall, wondering where the doctors were. Hadn't they heard the gunshot?

Dean continued to hold Sam tightly, whispering softly to him, when arms reached out and pulled him from Dean's grasp.

"Sir, we need to help him. Let us help," a man said, leaning over Sam.

Dean hadn't heard the doctor or the two nurses approach, but here they were, loading Sam onto a gurney and wheeling him away, shouting a bunch of things that Dean couldn't comprehend at the moment. All he was aware of was the fact that they were taking his brother away from him.

"Sammy!" he shouted. "He's my brother. Please!" He reached out to him but a male nurse held him gently back.

"Sir, he's going to be alright. How about you? Are you hurt?" he asked, his brown eyes quickly tracing over his frame, looking for any obvious injuries.

"No, I'm fine. What about Sam? What's going on?" he answered anxiously.

"Calm down. They're taking him to surgery to get him all fixed up, okay? Just wait over there in the waiting room for him. Someone will get you when he's done." he said, looking intently to see if what he said registered at all in the agitated man's eyes.

"Surgery?" Dean parroted back.

The nurse nodded. "Yes. He should be fine." Without waiting for a response, he put a palm to Dean's back and guided him around the corner to the waiting room. "Just wait here." And with that, he was gone, his steps quick as he got back to work.

Dean paced as the hands on the clock moved slowly. When he got tired of walking, he sat down on one of the hard, plastic hospital chairs, but that only made things worse. As soon as he sat, he could feel something hard digging into his bottom, and it only took a second to remember that he had stuffed the bullet into his back pocket. He didn't shift his position or take it out. He left it there as a constant reminder of what had happened. It was real. It wasn't some nightmare he'd wake up from.

He tried to count the tiles on the floor, but only got to 18 before his mind would drift again, wondering what he could have done to stop his little brother getting shot or what was happening right now. Was his brother okay? Would he be alright?

Dean stood abruptly, making the only other woman in the waiting room glance warily over at him. He needed a break. He needed air. If he stayed a minute more, he'd suffocate.

He quickly made his way outside and breathed the fresh air in deeply. It was chilly out, but he didn't care. It was invigorating. He stepped down the front steps and took a look around at the trees not too far off, thinking how nice they looked.

But then his eyes traveled across the parking lot and he could feel his heart plummet down into his stomach. The Impala stood there with the driver side door wide open. Sam had obviously been in a hurry to get inside and get to Corbin before he could kill Dean or anyone else and hadn't taken the time to close it.

As much as he loved this car (it was his baby after all), that wasn't what bothered Dean. What he found so unsettling was the bloody handprint stamped onto the glass of the driver's window.

Dean got closer to the car. Inside, he could see blood smeared over everything from the seat to the steering wheel, and even the floor. It was everywhere. Dean's stomach rolled. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, trying to ride out the nausea, but there was no stopping it. He quickly jogged over to some nearby bushes and unloaded his stomach. There wasn't much; mostly bile and some leftover juice from his earlier stunt, but that didn't mean that the heaves hurt any less.

When he was done, he spit one last time and straightened himself up. He couldn't keep looking at that car the way it was. He didn't want to be constantly reminded about how he almost lost his baby brother.

Finally having a purpose to fill the time while he waited on news about Sam, he marched inside for some cleaning supplies. He spent the next couple of hours getting lost in his task of scrubbing the car clean, trying to get rid of every last speck of blood he could find.

Shortly after he was done, he was summoned. He was told Sam was out of surgery and he could go see him. He was on edge when he walked into his hospital room, hoping that his brother was okay. Of course, they told him he'd be fine, but he needed the visual confirmation for himself. Only then could he begin to relax.

He glanced at his brother laying on the bed, asleep, his chest rising and falling with each breath. Dean released a breath of his own, the tension vaporizing along with it, and sat in the chair beside the bed, the hard stab coming from his back pocket not as unsettling as it was a few hours ago.

It was two weeks before Sam was released from the hospital, even though Sam claimed he was fine and begged Dean to sign him out AMA. Dean refused, however. He wasn't taking any chances. He'd come too close to losing him and wasn't about to count his eggs before they hatched, not with their usual Winchester luck, or lack thereof.

Along with Sam's extensive internal damage from the bullet, he also underwent a terrible infection from the wound. It hadn't looked good for a while, and Dean was beyond glad when it finally cleared up and he was able to take Sam home.

For the first week at the bunker, Sam mostly slept and stayed in bed relaxing and watching Netflix or reading books. After that, he was antsy to get out and go do something. Eventually, Dean gave in and found a hunt: a simple salt and burn. It wasn't far and should be a piece of cake. He didn't want to take Sam at all, figuring that he should be staying home and taking it easy for a while longer, but he knew that Sam had cabin fever pretty badly and wouldn't leave him alone about getting out, so he might as well pick something easy if he had to do something at all.

They were gone a total of four hours. Dean insisted on doing all the digging in the secluded graveyard while Sam kept lookout, sitting on the back of the Impala with a shotgun in his hands. The ghost only made one appearance, and Sam was quick to drive it off before Dean set its bones ablaze.

It was on the way back to the bunker when he saw it. The sun had just started to rise and cast a glow on everything when he saw a speck of blood that he had missed. He used his fingernail to surreptitiously scrape it off without Sam noticing, but once he did, he noticed another and then another spot after that that he'd missed.

It drove him nuts. Seeing the spots just served to remind him how close he'd come to losing Sam and he hated it. He tried to focus on the road and ignore them, but it was hard, like trying not to scratch an itch.

Once home, he got Sam settled in his room and went about doing a few odds and ends around the bunker. He would have gone immediately, but he wanted to make sure Sam was staying in his room for a while before he snuck out to the garage. When Sam's room remained quiet, he was sure he was asleep, so he grabbed some cleaner, rags, and scrubbing brushes and headed over to the Impala.

His footsteps echoed on the concrete floor of the bunker's garage as he made his way over to his baby. When he reached her, though, he stopped, tense. He dropped his supplies to the ground.

"Sammy, what are you doing out of bed?" he said loudly, making Sam flinch as he stood hunched over the driver's seat. "What are you even doing out here?"

Sam turned to face him, standing up to his full height, doing his best to hide the slight grimace as the movement pulled on his sore stomach. "I could ask you the same thing, Dean," he responded, his bitchface in full effect.

Dean snorted. "Yeah, right. 'Cause I'm the one that got shot a few weeks ago."

"I'm fine, Dean."

"Sure. But we were out late on that hunt that you basically begged to go on. Now go get your ass in bed," Dean said, his hands on his hips.

Sam sighed, his face softening, which only concerned Dean more. Sam was too stubborn to give up so easily. "But, I wanted to…" he trailed off, eyes going back to the Impala.

"You wanted to what, Sam?"

Sam sighed again, his shoulders slumping as he turned back to his big brother. "I wanted to clean out the Impala. I saw you when you noticed the blood splatters. I know it bothers you. I wanted to clean it up for you so you won't have to see it anymore."

Dean was speechless for a second before finding his voice. "Don't worry about it, Sam. I got it," he said, nudging his cleaning supplies on the ground with his boot.

Sam shook his head. "No, let me. I should never have gotten it dirty in the first place. The Impala means a lot to you and I didn't mean to make a mess. I hate that you've already had to clean it once before, at the hospital, and, I mean, that's what you came here to do, too."

Understanding crushed Dean. He felt like his chest would explode. He couldn't believe what Sam was saying. How could he think that he cared more about his car than his own brother's life?

"Whoa, whoa. Hold on a second, Sam. You think that _that_ is what this is about? You think I'm upset that you _bled_ in the car?"

He waited for a response. Sam just shrugged.

"Sam, the reason I was upset seeing it this morning was because it reminded me that I almost lost you. You could have died, Sam. Hell, I thought that you had, when that bastard tried choking you. I should never have left you alone with him and I'll never forgive myself for that. Sam, you mean more to me than that car. You're my brother."

Sam was quiet. "I know. But I want you to be happy. The Impala—"

"The Impala is a car, Sam. A damn good one, sure. She's the best. But she can be fixed. Cleaned. Repaired. But you? Sammy, there's only one you. I can't replace you. I've almost lost you too many times, and I never know when it'll be the last. I don't know what I'd do without you and seeing your blood in my car reminds me how I failed you as a big brother. And not for the first time, either. I can't stand seeing such a blatant reminder of how I didn't do my job."

They were both quiet as they absorbed the moment.

"You haven't failed me, Dean. You're always there when I need you most."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, like in that cabin with those werewolves? Sure, I was there alright, but it didn't do you any good, did it?"

"Yeah, it did, Dean. You wouldn't abandon me like Corbin wanted you to. I slowed you down, but you didn't care."

Dean shrugged, mulling it over. "I guess," he said noncommittally.

"Hell, Dean, you sold your soul for me. You literally killed Death to save me. How could I ask for a better big brother than that?" Sam said with a smile.

Dean grinned in return. "Yeah, I guess I am pretty awesome."

There was a pause. "Well, I guess I'll leave the two of you alone for a while, then," Sam said, gesturing between Dean and the Impala.

"Hey!" Dean said, throwing a rag at Sam, making the taller boy laugh.

"Jerk!" Sam said with a smile.

Dean grinned, knowing for sure now that Sam didn't hold anything against him. "Go pick a movie. I'll join you in a bit." Dean locked eyes with Sam. "And save me some popcorn, bitch."

Sam grinned in return and made his way out of the garage.


End file.
